Sense of
by LickSkillet
Summary: When you live with people for five-year spans, you notice things. May become a series.


**Author's Note:** Hey guys! This prompt has been bothering me for ..... like, weeks. I just got the urge to sit down and write it, I hope you like!

As a side note, I _am working on Overload!_ I wouldn't blame you guys if you'd thought I'd forgotten it, I haven't been the best with keeping up on my chapter fics. As it is, Overload is just having a bit of shit-fit about _plot_ and that sort of thing. I've got a lot of the second chapter down, but then I watched the new Star Trek:2009 last night -not for the first time- and I've changed my mind about how I want to explore Spock's psyche... and then I have... well, I have to admit that first chapter just came to me, and now I'm a little stumped with how to continue and have it still have a plot. As it is, it's going to be a stupid little getting-together fic, and I'd like to have **_something_** happen. Yadda yadda.

Also, I'd like to offer anyone with a LiveJournal to friend me, because I feel bad that I can't just give you guys an update unless I have something to say. It'd be much easier if I could keep you up to date with LJ. I've also got fic tidbits up there that never made it over here. ;D

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**Scotty**

No one on the _Enterprise_ can deny it; Scotty _stinks_. It isn't the stink of sweat and body odor – not all the time, anyway – but it's the reek of burned hair, singed skin, charred uniforms. He must go through _so many_ uniforms, it's a wonder where he gets them all. Every day it's a new gaping hole with the edges shedding ash wherever he walks. There's also the overpowering odor of oil, coolant and the tepid water that seems to drip from the oddest places on the Engineering Deck. It's even been rumored that he once threw one of his smiles and the oil had smeared across his _teeth_. The man has a constant tangy scent of metal to him, and there's _always_ a whiff of scotch or whiskey on his breath- it's never too early for good alcohol. Yes, the engineer has his days when he's got all of those smells on top of B.O, and the entirety of the crew refuses to get within a mile of him, but no one's going to resent him for smelling badly; he keeps their ship afloat, and they're blessed to have him, stink and all.

**Chekov**

Sulu hates it it, but he gets a sick feeling of satisfaction that he's the only one who knows _exactly _what Chekov smells like. Earlier in the day, he's clean with the scent of Starfleet-issue detergent, mixed with his soap from home –_Did you know dat soap vas inwented in Russia, Sulu? –_ which has some sort of floral scent. The botanist in Sulu is ashamed that he still can't identify the exact specimen that would create that aroma, but it's _white_ and _pristine_, sweet and fresh. It's downright _feminine_, but if Chekov knew that –maybe he knows, and he just doesn't _care_- he'd kill Sulu, the man is sure of it; Pavel has more fight in him than anyone would think. As the day progresses, the smell of that soap mixes with the smell of skin, creating a heady-sweet scent, combined with the chemicals in the laundry detergent, and it's damn near intoxicating. When night draws in, when Chekov feels brave, or when he, Sulu, the bridge crew, Scotty and McCoy all get together for poker or a night of spinning tales, Pavel will break out a bottle of strictly against regulation Vodka, which he takes long drags from when Spock looks away. By the time he and Sulu make it back to their quarters, Chekov's breath is one-hundred-percent bitter Vodka, and by the time they start to nod off, Sulu is drunk.

**Sulu**

Hikaru Sulu has a very earthy smell to his skin, as Chekov can attest. Every spare minute he isn't on shift of being dragged into their quarters by Pavel, the Lieutenant Commander will most likely be found in the botany lab, much to the chagrin of the science officers, because he's a know-it-all without any real training, who has no scientific background. He'll spend hours _talking to plants_, which Chekov first thought was hilarious, even with Sulu _insisting_ that it makes a plant healthier. He comes back to their quarters, or to the bridge, or into the mess with the smells of thousands of flowers. Sometimes, if the terrarium has been over-hauled for the sake of _science_ and such, Sulu will come back with exotic and nostalgic pine scents, which remind Chekov so much of being home in Russia that he's always tempted to ask Sulu to keep his shirt out of the wash cycle for a week or so, just to let the smell permeate the room. Sulu's skin always smells like _dirt_, which is anything but disgusting. At night, as Chekov beings to be pulled into the darkness behind his eyelids, lying under Sulu's imposing weight, with those smells swirling through the air, it's akin to being buried under warm soil, and it's almost like they haven't even left Earth.

**Uhura**

No one person can claim to be close enough to Uhura to know what she smells like, _exactly_. …well, most men are scared _shitless_ to even try and hit on her, but it's not like they haven't _tried._ However, almost everyone has had the chance to be on the receiving end of a hand on the shoulder, or a small hug in a hallway, sickbay cot or in the lift. Uhura is a tactile person, a firm believer that actions speak louder than words for all of her work on linguistics, with all of her experience in learning to read all that is said _without_ words. In those brief moments she's found to smell very, very feminine, more so than even Chekov's accidentally-girly soap makes him smell. She uses some sort of baby powder, a smell connected instantly with _home_. On top of that she's got some sort of rather strong perfume, like a batch of flowers got dipped in citrus, though it manages to be light and not at all overpowering on her. Her shampoo and soap are fruity and sweet, altogether creating an inviting, warm, enveloping emotion when one is on the receiving end of her comforting touch. She's a mother hen to everyone on the bridge, and while many would never admit it, they enjoy having someone watching out for them – watching _over_ them – this far into the darkest reaches of space.

**Leonard McCoy (aka Bones)**

Bones does not allow many to get close to him, a man who's strictly business and has a large bubble of personal space. However, nearly everyone on the ship has ended up in his arms, catatonic, vomiting, convulsing, rabid with space-spores and the like. The Chief Medical Officer has that crisp, sterile smell to his clothing, more so because he uses a special Medical-grade detergent and has his own laundry shoot to prevent his getting infected with anything else that could be on the ship. Underneath that is a warm smell, pure skin, sweat and nature, with hints of cologne so long ago worn that it's faded and lost, worn for so many years that it's a part of his sweat, part of his body chemistry in a way that any scientist would find completely _illogical_, but it's there, a constant reminder of the past. There's always a bit of bourbon on his tongue, another very-against-Starfleet-regulations stash that he dips into whenever he feels the need, which is every _Goddamn day_, it feels like. _It's medicinal alcohol, Jim, for God's sake_. He's fine. Really.

**Spock**

Spock, according to James Kirk, has a lingering _warm_ smell, something akin to dusty _desert_ and _heat_, which stems from his stash of Vulcan sweaters, all lovingly made by his mother. They've lived a life in the dry desert, absorbed its sand and the smell of tea, the smell of their house and of his mother. As such, he refuses to get rid of them or so much as wash them, which would be unbecoming on anyone other than Spock, who has so many emotions that he can't categorize or handle. If keeping a few sweaters makes his life easier, who is Jim to tell him otherwise? Along with those sweaters, there's a spicy scent that lingers in Spock's very _pores_; drinking tea every single day of your entire life will do that to a Vulcan. It's not so much a sharp, fiery scent as it is one of herbal tealeaves, heady and engulfing, gentle and soothing. This combined with the man's dislike of water, and thusly showers, creates unique scent to his skin. Spock only takes _sonic_ showers, which serves to intensify the scent of his skin, clean and untarnished by soaps or shampoos, the way even Jims own skin is. Spock's skin has never once been tarnished by the pungency of a commercial, artificial smell, which makes him so much more _real_. Chai, black, green, a bouquet of warmth, dry desert dust and _Good morning, Jim_ every time he gets a breath of his bond mate.

**Jim**

It is a strange phenomenon that an entire species can manage to smell so differently among individuals. On Vulcan, there is nothing to distinguish between, as Vulcans do not use shampoo or soap, and avoid water-based showers all together. However, in his lifetime, the three Humans Spock has gotten close to all have somehow managed to have polar-opposite scents. Although he would rather not come to terms with the truth of it, Spock find James Tiberius Kirk's personal aroma to be _very_ pleasing. His hair, to start, has a sweet scent to it that stems from his shampoo. This in itself is fascinating, as he uses the Starfleet-issue hygienic products, but _something_ in the oils his skin secretes has caused a chemical reaction that changes the scent of the soap. The same can be said for his skin, with its rich fragrance that is also sweet and akin to talcum powder in parts, combined with the faint scent of after-shave across his cheeks and cologne along his neckline. Jim's sweat becomes ambrosia with these components together, a smell that Spock has learned to pick up from across a crowded mess hall. Early in the mornings, with their _good morning_'s, and late in the evenings, with their _good night_'s, there is the bitter smell of coffee on Jim's breath, an odor – and taste - that at one point had Spock crinkling his nose, but now makes his heart clench in a strange wave of homesickness.


End file.
